“Benjamin Rollins.”
“How long have you been working here?”
Rollins swelled up with pride. “Nigh on five years now, I guess. I was ten when I started.”
“Ten,” Eli muttered. At ten, he’d been building boats to sail on the pond behind his grandfather’s house.
“Yes, sir. I was a pot tender first, but I got real strong, real fast, so they put me on the furnaces soon enough. Twice the wages.”
Eli only nodded, too tired to carry the conversation further. He looked down at his blackened, blistered hands and smiled ruefully, remembering his grandfather’s ironfast belief that a man should never ask his workers to do anything he couldn’t do himself.
“Some of us are wonderin’ what you’re doin’ here, Mr. McKutchen,” Ben Rollins choked out. His eyes were on the sandwich in Eli’s dinner box. “Fancy man like you don’t usually do such as shovelin’.”
Eli extended the sandwich, ignoring the boy’s remark. The more the men wondered why he was feeding furnace along with the rest, the better.
“Well, if you ain’t gonna eat,” Rollins conceded, his eyes round and white in his black face. He snatched the sandwich from Eli’s hand and literally stuffed it into his mouth.
At six the next morning, when Eli again saw daylight, he was surprised to find Bonnie waiting for him at the gate. She looked fresh and pretty in her pink and white gingham dress, and the sunlight glimmered red in her hair. For a moment, Eli considered hurling his arms around her out of sheer spite. At least he tried to convince himself that that would be his motivation.
“Have you gone mad?” she demanded, in a whisper, falling into step beside Eli as he strode along the road. Every nonchalant swing of his dinner box cost him an agonizing price, but he was damned if he’d let Bonnie know that. “You can’t go on doing this kind of work!”
“Thank you for your concern,” Eli replied. “Does your husband know you’re out?”
Bonnie bit her lip and lowered her head, and Eli was moved to a painful sort of tenderness by the wispy tendrils of mink-soft hair that danced along the nape of her neck. He wanted to kiss her there.
“Eli—”
He felt a sweeping sort of triumph and deliberately hid the fact. “Yes, Mrs.—Hutcheson?”
Bonnie stopped in the stream of curious workers, her arms folded, her eyes snapping as she glared up into Eli’s sooty face. “Building a new place for the families to live is enough, Eli. The other concessions are enough. You don’t have to kill yourself to do penance for having money!”
“I’m not trying to do penance for anything, Bonnie,” Eli answered with a sigh. “I care about these people and I want them to know it.”
“Look at you! You’re so tired you can barely stand, and you’re filthy in the bargain! Is that caring?” She drew in a deep shaking breath. “I’ll tell you what it is, Eli McKutchen —it’s madness!”
Eli had to start walking again. People were staring and, besides, his muscles were beginning to cramp. “I really don’t think you should be here,” he said. “It’s highly improper, you know.”
“I don’t give a—I don’t care whether or not it’s proper! Someone has to get some sense through that cast-iron head of yours before you hurt yourself!”
He tossed her a sidelong grin. “If you’re worried about my safety, Mrs. Hutcheson—”
“Stop calling me Mrs. Hutcheson!”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
Her glorious purple-gray eyes rounded and then shot sparks. “Yes! Yes, you lout!”
The other workers had gone ahead, though a few of them were brave enough to risk a subtle look back over their shoulders now and again. Eli kept his voice down.
“You didn’t mention your husband the other night when we made love. Are you in the habit of whoring behind Hutcheson’s back, Bonnie?”
She stopped again and her hand lashed out, making sharp contact with Eli’s face and coming away black with soot. Her eyes turned almost as dark and her cheeks were a bright, enticing shade of apricot.
Eli kept walking, swallowing a grin. He shook his head, as if in wonder. “I guess I’m just old-fashioned. I wouldn’t want my wife letting other men bathe her.”
Bonnie scrambled to catch up, so mad that she could barely contain herself. There wasn’t a damned thing she could say without confessing that she and Hutcheson had invented their marriage and that knowledge was, to Eli, as sweet as new cream.
He tried to sound ingenuous, though in truth he wanted to drag Bonnie into the bushes and make slow, sweet love to her. “Do you carry on with Webb the way you did with me?” he asked.
“C-carry on?” Bonnie was double-stepping to keep up, and the color glowed bright in her face.
“Yes,” Eli replied clinically. “You make a yelping sound—”
“A yelp—I do not!”
“Oh, but you do. And the things you say!”
It didn’t seem possible, but Bonnie blushed even harder. She made a strangled sound in her throat, caught her skirts up in both hands and ran back to her store as fast as she could go, Eli’s delighted chuckles following after her.
CHAPTER 12
“I DON’T THINK Eli believes that we’re married,” Bonnie said to Webb without preamble, the moment she entered the store.
“Good morning to you, too,” Webb retorted with weary humor. There were shadows of fatigue under his eyes and he leaned against the counter as though he might need it to hold him up.
Bonnie looked down at her hand, which was splotched with soot from Eli’s face, and scowled. Why had she done such a foolish thing as to approach that man anyway? She might have known that he wouldn’t listen to reason. “That hardheaded—”
Webb drew a deep breath and released it loudly. “Bonnie.”
She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Was there something you wanted?”
Webb stood straighter and there was a reprimand in his blue eyes, albeit a gentle one. “I want you to be my wife, Bonnie. I want to make the lie true.”
Marrying Webb had seemed such a good idea two nights before, when they had worked out the plan. But there were so many things Bonnie hadn’t fully considered then, not the least of these being the powerful attraction she felt toward Eli, notwithstanding all the pain he’d caused her. Suppose he tried to seduce her again? Would she be able to resist? With any other man, resistance was a certainty, but Eli McKutchen wasn’t just any man. Suppose she married Webb and then turned right around and betrayed him? Webb would be destroyed by that.
And there was Rose Marie. Was it fair to make her live a lie, to make her believe that Webb was her father, and not Eli, whom she already knew as Papa? Bonnie could not bear to lose her daughter, but she didn’t want to deceive her, either. And yet, if this crazy plan were to work, she would have to do just that. She would have to lie to Rose, as well as the rest of the world.
“Oh, Webb, I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, barely able to meet his eyes. Memories of that recent night when Eli had made love to her seared her mind. What would Webb say if he knew about that? Would he still be so anxious to make Bonnie McKutchen his wife?
“I thought we’d already decided what to do,” Webb pointed out quietly.
Bonnie raised the shades that covered the store’s front windows and found a rag to wipe the soot from her hand. “We can’t live a lie, Webb. We can’t tell Rose that you’re her father. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
“I would be a very good father.”
Bonnie knew that that was true; she’d seen how gentle Webb was with Rose, how caring and patient and kind. Yes, he would be a good father, and he would be there for Rose all the time. Should Eli take the child to live with him, he would almost certainly consign her to the care of nannies and housekeepers, sparing little or no time for her himself. And when she was older, he would send her away to boarding school—that was the way the rich raised their children. “I’m not sure I have the strength to be a proper wife
to you,” Bonnie dared to say, hoping that Webb would read between the lines.
Webb did not understand; how could he? “I can’t wait forever, Bonnie,” he said gruffly, then put on his hat and left the store.
Despondent, Bonnie began the day’s business, if it could be called that. Now that she was no longer dancing at the Brass Eagle, there was almost no money. She couldn’t keep the store going much longer, soon she would have to marry Webb just to survive.
She was thinking these dismal thoughts when Seth Callahan entered the store and smiled at her.
“Good morning,” he said with conviction.
Bonnie stiffened, instantly suspicious. Perhaps Mr. Callahan had come to serve legal papers, regarding Rose’s custody. “I’m not sure it is a good morning, Seth. Are you here about my daughter?”
Seth took out his handkerchief and dried his brow and the back of his neck, something Bonnie had seen him do a thousand times. Winter or summer, Seth always seemed to be overheated, and it was little wonder since he always dressed so warmly. “I’m here on business, Mrs. McKutchen. You’ve heard, I suppose, that Patch Town is to be demolished?”
Bonnie had heard about the new cabins that would be built on the southern end of town. Everyone knew about it; in a town the size of Northridge, such news always traveled fast. “Yes. It’s about time, don’t you think?”
Seth removed his spectacles and gave the lenses a thorough wiping with his handkerchief. “I do indeed. But better late than never, no?”
“No.” Bonnie swallowed hard. “I mean, yes.”
“I’m here to order various and sundry goods, Mrs. McKutchen—paint, nails, tools, fixtures, things of that nature. Everything except the lumber.”
Bonnie’s mouth dropped open. She was so used to failing where the general store was concerned that she couldn’t quite grasp what Seth was saying, what he was offering.
“Have you catalogues?” Seth prompted. “I’m certain that you don’t stock the goods we’ll need in the necessary volume.”
Bonnie brought a stack of catalogues from beneath the counter, her eyes wide, and Seth immediately began to peruse them.
“A pencil and paper, if you will,” Seth said, already absorbed in one of the books. The instant the requested items had been provided, he began listing lengths of pipe.
“The cabins are going to have indoor plumbing?” Bonnie marveled, watching in wonder as Seth wrote.
The lawyer did not look up. “Oh, yes. We plan to wire for electricity, too, though I imagine it will be quite some time before there is power available in these remote areas.”
Bonnie was agog. “Was this your idea, or Eli’s?”
“Building the cabins was Mr. McKutchen’s notion,” Seth replied. He looked up and the light in his eyes was downright impish. “However, he gave me no directives as to acquiring the necessary materials.”
She could have kissed Seth for choosing to give her the business. He was handing Bonnie her first real chance at success. “I appreciate this, Seth. I really do.”
“Of course, you’ll need a substantial deposit,” Seth said, embarrassed by Bonnie’s gratitude. “I doubt that your suppliers would be willing to extend this kind of credit.”
That, Bonnie thought, was an understatement of classic proportions. Her suppliers were growing testy over accounts already overdue. A possible snag occurred to her, and she frowned. “Eli may be very upset about this,” she warned.
“Eli is not your enemy, Mrs. McKutchen,” Seth said, looking up from his list at last. “I know it sometimes appears that he is, but the truth, I feel, is something quite different.”
Bonnie was curiously uplifted by Seth’s words, but she wasn’t willing to give them any real weight. She knew, after all, that Eli held her in contempt. The fifty-dollar bill he’d left on her bedside table had been proof of that, and when he was kind to her—a rare enough occurrence—it was only because he wanted something.
The silence seemed to bother Seth; again he removed his glasses and gave them a thorough polishing. “Eli is more than my employer, Mrs. McKutchen,” he began reluctantly. “He is my friend. And I am very concerned about his well-being.”
Bonnie leaned forward slightly, a little alarmed. “You mean the way he’s working so hard in the smelter?”
Seth dismissed the theory briskly. “After an initial adjustment period, I’m sure Eli will be able to handle smelter work. He has the constitution of a bull, you know. No, it’s his emotional state that worries me.”
“His emotional state?”
“He has never really come to terms with the death of young Master Kiley, Mrs. McKutchen. He grieves as deeply now as he did when the boy first passed on, and that is not healthy.”
Any mention of Kiley wounded Bonnie, and she still wept for him sometimes in the privacy of her room, but she had Rose Marie now and that was a vast comfort. One Eli couldn’t share. “Eli never cried,” she recalled softly. “I knew he was hurting, but he never cried.”
“I know,” Seth said, and he seemed embarrassed again, very uncomfortable. Probably, he felt that he had said too much, that he had somehow betrayed his friend. “Mrs. McKutchen, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take these catalogues along to my room at the hotel. It might take hours or even days for me to make out a proper order.”
Bonnie was glad to be distracted from thoughts of the worst time in her life and from the new worry aroused by what Seth had said about Eli’s mental state. “I couldn’t refuse such a valued customer,” she said brightly.
Seth gathered the catalogues into a neat stack, lifted them off the counter, and then set them down again. “Oh, yes—I almost forgot. Miss Genoa asked me to give you this.” He pulled a bright blue envelope from the inside pocket of his suitcoat. “She’s planning a lawn party for the Saturday following next, and she does hope you’ll come.”
A lawn party. How like Genoa to plan a frivolous entertainment when the rest of the world was in utter turmoil! Smiling, Bonnie took the envelope and broke the fancy wax emblem that sealed it.
“Good day, Mrs. McKutchen,” Seth said politely, as he opened the door to leave.
Bonnie looked up from Genoa’s neatly penned invitation. “Good day, Seth. And thank you very, very much.”
Seth reddened. “You are most welcome, of course,” he replied, and then he was gone.
Bonnie went about her work happily, singing as she dusted shelves and at the same time assessed her inventory. She needed to restock so many items, and perhaps she could expand her business by putting in a line of women’s clothing. The members of the Friday Afternoon Community Improvement Club, having gone to great lengths to avoid buying their groceries from Bonnie, might not be able to resist the latest fashions.
While Bonnie worked and dreamed, Tuttle helped by giving the front windows a good cleaning, and Katie took Rose Marie out for a bit of fresh air.
The door had barely closed behind them when Tuttle said, “That Katie is a smart one. I asked her how come she don’t go to school, and she said she knows more than the teacher does.”
High on a ladder, dusting cans of peaches and pears with a rag, Bonnie smiled. “Katie is very bright. I fear the world is going to run out of knowledge before she learns all she wants to know.”
“She reads too blasted much,” Tuttle said, and this time his voice carried a note of complaint. “It’s God’s own wonder she ain’t blind already.”
Aha, Bonnie thought. “What about you, Tuttle? What do you want to learn?”
Tuttle thought for a moment, then went purposefully back to polishing the window. “I don’t know, ma’am, but I will say that I’d admire to be like Mr. Hutcheson or Mr. McKutchen or Forbes Durrant, even. I’d like to earn my way by thinkin’ instead of tendin’ pots or shovelin’ ore at the smelter.”
Bonnie considered. Eli had been born to the life he led, and Forbes was hardly an exemplary model for a young man just starting out, but there might be something in Tuttle’s admiration for Webb. “You mig
ht speak with Mr. Hutcheson, Tuttle, and ask him if he needs an apprentice. He may be willing to teach you his trade.”
Tuttle looked delighted for a moment, but then the glow faded. “I don’t read too good, and my spellin’ is worse yet. How could I ever write articles and such as that?”
Bonnie climbed carefully down the ladder. “There are a lot of other factors involved in publishing a newspaper, Tuttle. Typesetting, for instance. You could learn to do that. And maybe Katie and I could help you with your reading and spelling.”
Tuttle climbed down out of the window, nearly squashing a straw gardening bonnet in the process, and his face fairly shone with new hope. “I reckon Miss Katie might fancy a newspaper man, don’t you?”
With great effort Bonnie managed not to smile. Indeed, she even looked stern. “Tuttle, if you become a journalist, you must do it because it’s work you enjoy doing, not just to catch a lady’s fancy.”
“Could I go and see Mr. Hutcheson now? Please, ma’am? I’ve done a right fair job on the windows and—”
“Yes, Tuttle, you may go. And when you see Webb—Mr. Hutcheson—please tell him that I’d like him to come for supper tonight. Around six o’clock, if that’s convenient for him.”
Tuttle smoothed his hair and bolted toward the door. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell him. And thank you!”
Bonnie sighed, wondering if she had set Tuttle up for a serious disappointment by arousing his hopes. While Webb was known to be well-fixed, he did put out the newspaper by himself and it was possible that he’d never hired help for reasons of economy.
The little bell over the front door rang, startling her, and Bonnie looked up to see Earline Kalb standing just inside the store. Earline took in only male boarders at her rooming house and, for that reason, she was only slightly higher on the social scale than the hurdy-gurdy girls dancing in the Brass Eagle Ballroom.
Earline had a womanly figure and mounds of rich, chestnut brown hair, and her green eyes were round and thickly lashed. She was attractive and still young, and Bonnie found it surprising that she had never been married.
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